Our numbers show

Statistics show when statistically speaking no one ever wants to grow up and be a
it is not an option when your a kid
when you write that essay in primary school, everyone child wants to be a
indian chief
hold fast to thoughts of that child
the playground rules and skinned knees can never be taken
they can be traded in for the empty sky of foreclosed candy stores
and a lifetime of heartbreaking phones ringing
math we were taught is farce to the infallible numbers we were made to be
add all of us beautiful numbers together
a million voices singing the hymn we all know
it was born with us all
you may forget the tune
never forget the words



It melts into each other
morning haze pouring into the barely slept dreams of the three nights before
coffee doesnt’ clear this much fog or clouded gray matter
lack of sleep will do funny things to you i suppose
as well place people in your subconscious that have no place there

One Light,One Dark please

Sleep has become almost non exsistant, a fairytale these days
although when i do catch little slices
dreams seem to be faintly real even though
the rational brain knows this is just a cloud thats passing through
a tired brains leftover daylight
i spotted you crossing the street on St.Marks from the window of
one my old haunts
of course i left my pint and told the bartender to hold my drink
police and thieves died on the jukebox as i hit the street to catch up to your frantic walking pace
i called your name
that hair spun around with a flash of those eyes
a look of surprise followed
the street was busy ,i could tell you what color the happy hour suits were
you didnt’ recall my face even when i did my best to convince you
you told me you were lost and so was i
with that laugh
offering to help you get to where you needed to go
you refused
then smiling
told me you didnt’ belong here as you walked with the rest of the herd
heading back to the bar
a fight broke out on the corner with swords ,bows and arrows
fire came from all over with fierce screams
i rolled over
cursed the fucking cartoon blaring television
changing the channel
to find another repeat to sleep too

U Hauls and Rest Stops

There is a constant dream i have
most would consider a nightmare
the u haul flips almost into the Carolinas
near a horrid billboard for cheap cigarettes and fireworks
the radio keeps playing
im quite content in this flipped over truck with the smell of gasoline and dirt
cars spied speeding by in the corner of my little eye
dying on the side of this road with the everything i have traveled away from
this im fine with except
i cant’ hear
what song is on the radio

Yabba Dabba Doo

When i do fall asleep, its the same reoccuring dream or nightmare depending how its viewed…
based on real events though, i guess its just an old ghost who refuses to go quietly in the night
im wandering around the NJ PATH station on the Manhatten side lost in the station
with the same saxophone player bouncing notes off the platform walls
the way to the street is caged off
revolving gates are sharp blades
the only way out is along the train track
echoing with the same notes from the saxophone
a train line to New Jersey or the Flintstones…im not sure which is worse